Magnificent Murders and How to Commit Them
by MindForgedMan
Summary: "No necrotic household is complete without a copy of Magnificent Murders, well thumbed by the generations who have riffled its pages in search of the best way to rid their towns of Muggles, interpret the mournful cries of the dying, or cure their despair at lacking direction in life." -Mortuary Monthly


**Preface**

One often finds the need to add a little pizzazz to one's killing sprees to keep them from growing stale. Nothing, and I mean _nothing,_ kills the gratification from a murder well done as much as the realization that it's becoming standard ordinary fare.

While this is written as as a biography of sorts, it's intended as a guide for the burgeoning serial killer. Happy killings!

* * *

I suppose it all began with a moan.

Though it is not well known, I was beyond an excellent student in school. The delight of virtually every professor, a trailblazer set to explore the yet untapped externalities beyond the horizon of modern magical theory. Aesthetically, I was renowned by man, woman, goblin and elf alike as possessing exquisite looks and incomparable charm and wit. I had a penchant for ferreting out what others dismissed as legendary elements accrued to proper history through generational embellishment.

And it was all meaningless to me. I took no true pride in my gifts and my skills. Nothing struck my fancy nor resonated within me to give me personal investment. I did what I did simply because I could do it. The hope that I would find that satisfying something was an intangible vapor to my grasp.

Abraxas assured me hedonism held the answers I sought. "Shag a good woman and you'll never again wonder what's worth wanting," he assured me.

And that's how I found myself in the girl's lavatory on the second floor in my fifth-year, the very one I discovered a certain hidden chamber within. Abraxas told me the girl I was dominating had reputation of being quite a good lay. Her vocal game was supposed to be a good motivator for even the blushing virgin.

"Oooh, Tom! I'm sooo close…" she moaned out in ecstasy as Tom had his way with her. She was pressed up against the cold wall by the imposing figure of Tom, who offered no respite in his ministrations. "Don't you dare stop."

"The intensity is right but not the direction," I had murmured. He felt he was on the verge of discovering what he desired. Oddly, it felt like rediscovering an old friend - though I never had such a thing - like something I'd known in childhood but lost in the shuffle of my entry to the magical world.

"W-what was that?" she had asked between her heavy breaths.

Rather than answer, Tom proceeded to increased the pace of his actions. Unfortunately, the girl's moans increased proportionally, much to my annoyance. How on earth was I took accurately experience the totality of the ensuing satisfaction with that bint's increasingly louder voice interrupting my thoughts?

As we mutually helped each other reach the apex, I found myself profoundly cheated. Oh the shag was nice, but the promise of fulfillment was as much out of reach as it had been before.

"Fuck you Abraxas, you lied to be," I had muttered allowed.

Unfortunately, the fourth-year girl I had just fucked, Myrtle, heard my disappointment and said rather heatedly, "Oh Malfoy put you up to this, did he? Typical, I should have known you only came to me to be broken in. But don't worry Tom, I'll be the last girl you'll ever shag at this school."

Tom, who had been trying to ignore the insufferable girl to find another path, looked at her in annoyance. "Oh, and why do you think you could ever match my power in this school?" I had asked her dismissively.

Myrtle giggled and replied, "Because even if you're easy on the eyes, no girl will want to face the disappointment my tales of your tiny member will prime them for."

I saw red immediately. "You _bitch_!" I yelled in genuine anger. "This is the closest I've come to finding fulfillment and you just want to ruin it for me?!" In a move that would change the course of my life, I slapped her across the face, hard.

As the perfect skin of my hand impacted the mundane Myrtle's, I felt an almost spiritual jolt course through my immaculate form. 'This, this is it!' I had thought in realization. It should have been obvious; violence was what gave my life meaning. I had known it as a kid, but had foolishly believed magic alone could supplant my purpose-giver.

To test it out, I once again struck the shocked Myrtle on the opposite cheek, and the entrancing feeling returned just as it had before. Being the prodigy that I am, I knew ultimate satisfaction would require descending down the slippery slope to the ultimate form of violence. But, I needed to do this with the proper progression to achieve a lasting effect.

"Y-you think you can hit me Tom?" Myrtle screeched into my face. "The Headmaster will hear about this. Have fun with expulsion, freak."

Ignoring her, I bound her with a quick _Incarcerous_ and Silenced her. While Myrtle flailed aimlessly about on the floor, I descended into my ancestor's chamber and returned to the lavatory with his Basilisk in tow.

Myrtle stared at it in utter terror, much to my enjoyment. Before I ordered the Basilisk to kill her, I Obliviated her so she could not recall being with anyone prior to her death. Many would-be serial killing wizards had been caught when the deceased ghost returned and identified their killer. I certainly was not going to allow my happiness to be take away, not by her nor anyone else.

After removing my Silencing Charm, I said, "Take pride in being the first in many who will sate my hunger, Myrtle. The shag was a good appetizer, but I'd hate to leave without first cleaning my plate."

As she screamed, I called out in Parsletounge, " _Kill the girl!_ "

The Basilisk turned it's killing gaze upon the girl looking its way, ending her life in an instant. As her breathing ceased and the light left her eyes, I experienced such euphoria that I cannot properly describe it in mere words. It was as if a hundred Cheering Charms had been cast on me at once, I could not wait to do it again.

* * *

Being the brilliant man I was, I knew I must secure my future kills so as to keep my happiness within the realm of possibility. Immortality was a must; it was surprisingly easy to attain and was exactly in line with what gave my life meaning. That foolish Potions professor was a goldmine of information, he let me know exactly how far I ought to go to attain unbeatable Immortality.

After my next ten or so kills - mostly Muggles who annoyed me with their presence - I noticed that particular kinds of murders appealed to me more at different times than others. Finding such a phenomenon interesting, I began to catalogue different methods of killing so that I would _always_ receive the maximum satisfaction from taking a life.

Myrtle's demise fell under "Creature-Induced Death". CIDs were good in their own right, but I was currently itching for something more personal.

As I walked the streets of Little Hangleton, where my filthy father lived, I came upon my deceased mother's remaining relative. The man, who shall remain unnamed, was quite unkempt in appearance, but to my glee he had a similar look in his eyes. We quickly agreed to have a bit of fun offing my father and his family.

We strode into their gaudy mansion, blowing the place to bits with Reductor Curses and Bludgeoning Hexes. The three in the home had fled to a guest room, terrified at the spontaneous assault upon them. Upon seeing the two of us, the old man, his wife and their middle aged son stared at me in shock.

"Who are you?" my father had asked, eyes widened.

I laughed heartily before asking, "Didn't you wonder what happened to Merope all those years ago?"

My father said, "I know enough, I know she died like she deserved."

"I am your son," I said with a smile. "I am Tom **[REDACTED] [REDACTED]**!"

My father began shaking his head before sputtering out, "That's impossible… no, it can't be… noooo!"

My Uncle and I both broke out in strong laughs at the man's dismay.

My grandfather patted his son's shoulder and said sorrowfully, "Well done son. You fathered a beautiful psychopath."

Uncle and I cast our respective Killing Curses at my father and his family, with me obviously taking to satisfaction in ending my progenitor.

My uncle clapped my shoulder and said, "You took after our side, kid. Lemme know when you want do this again next time."

"Oh but dear uncle, surely you don't think you'd get away with this? You're the only wizard in town, and these three were obviously killed by the Killing Curse."

He realized what I was planning on but before he could act, I had him bound and unconscious. Oh the benefits of a good memory modification…

* * *

 **Proxy Murder**

After graduating from Hogwarts, I toured the world as a thrill seeker, a deliriously happy, murdering thrill seeker. The possibilities were endless.

In America, I had a bit of fun with Muggles. I had come across a television broadcast featuring the American President (his name escapes me). I thought, perhaps, the game of killing the most politically powerful Muggle on the planet would be worthwhile.

Sadly, the difficulty was nil. I Imperiused a hapless Muggle who owned a firearm and had him gun down the President in Dallas. The nationwide reaction and paranoia made it worth it though.

" _The Imperius Curse opens the possibility of inducing mass paranoia given no one can be sure who is acting under their own will. Muggles are particularly prone to conjuring conspiracies to explain the results of your fun, given their ignorance ."_

East Asia was far more fulfilling. Much to the chagrin of multiple Asian Ministries of Magic, I assisted the Americans in razing Vietnam with Fiendfyre and taking out arbitrary people on both sides with plentiful Killing Curses. Joyously, the Americans believed the Viet Cong had developed some type of chemical weapon so responded in kind with Agent Orange.

"Oh this is _fantastic_ ," I said once, watching them actually help me burn everything and everyone in sight. "Fiendfyre and chemical weapons… what a glorious conflagration," I waxed.

Despite having been hidden from sight via magic, I'm certain that, somehow, the Americans knew of my presence. They referred to me - affectionately, I'm sure - as 'Charlie'.

I continued to fill my Murderlogue, filing this excursion under " **Getting Muggles in on the Fun** ".

" _By remaining hidden and attacking indiscriminately in Muggle wars, the enterprising murderer can help cause a delightful array of unique kills by prompting the different factions to come up with new and unique responses to what they believe are clever mundane weapons of warfare."_

* * *

Crashing airplanes (from the inside), destroying space shuttles after liftoff, engendering famine. My next several years were rife with new and amusing ways of picking off Muggles. But, as I knew I must eventually, I got the itch to kill more difficult foes. I needed to kill fellow wizards.

Somehow or other, I gained a cult following of fellow ne'er do wells. Given my immense magical prowess and magical transformations, they looked to me as the god I was.

Oddly, these lesser wizards constructed an entire ideology they assumed I believed. Oh Muggles were definitely good for killing and subjugating, but I had no more quarrel with Muggle-borns than with pure-bloods. As far as I was concerned, both were equally pleasing to me in death. Still, I let them have their fun; they made it easier to cause widespread panic and kill even more. I didn't think I could any happier.

Abraxas somehow became the only 'friend' I could acknowledge having. He still thought I was completely mad, however. He jokingly referred to my ensemble of homicidal hobgoblins as my own personal "Death Beaters". It took me a moment to get it, but once I had my face broke out in the one and only blush of my entire life. Abraxas was right of course.

Unfortunately, his term was misheard by a nearby acolyte as "Death Eaters" which quickly caught on among his puppets. They seemed to think I would grant them the secrets of immortality.

As if I wanted them around with me for all time. I didn't want the competition.

* * *

The '70s were a decade of bloody (literally) fun and adventure. Wizards did in fact make the most fun murders. Our bag of tricks made the hunt a delight; you never knew what kind of response they'd give when their life was on the line.

 **The Switcheroo**

The Bones were the first to go. I killed one of their number and Transfigured myself to take on their appearance before following them to their spacious, well-defended manor. While they weren't watching, I cast an Anti-Disapparition Jinx on the lot of them.

"What was that?" one of them asked when they felt an unknown spell take effect.

"Oh don't be surprised," I said teasingly. As my appearance shifted back to normal, I took great pleasure at their horrified expressions. "You dared to challenge Lord Voldemort, to call him a coward in the papers? Challenge accepted."

With a silent _Confringo_ , I eliminated them in a massive explosion that levelled their home in seconds. I was rather saddened a week later to learn that a couple of the Bones's escaped my spell after I Disapparated from the place. I was letting my joy cause mistakes, something I knew for certain I would never do again.

 **Cursed Curiosities Causing Calamitous Calamities**

These became perhaps my favorite method of execution. I simply needed to curse an object of my choosing and leave it somewhere to be found at a later date. This necessitated creating a remote viewing and recording spell, but such a task was trivial for a master of the mystic arts such as myself. I have quite the stockpile of these incidents stored in my Penseive.

My most brilliant use of such a tactic was with a couple of members of the Prewett family. Gibidon and Fabulous, I think they were called.

I Imperiused the editor of _The Daily Prophet_ into owling them a letter saying they had won a contest. Their prize - 1000 galleons - could be picked up by bringing the letter to the Prophet's office within the week.

The two were kind enough to head that way the very same day. Little did they know I had cursed the letter they had touched. As they passed by Gringotts chattering animatedly, the curse began to take effect.

"Hey, what'd you say wizard?" one of the goblins asked fiercely.

Fabulous turned toward the goblin with a bemused expression. "I was just telling my brother how great it'd be to have some spending money."

The goblins growled angrily and placed on the swords at their sides. "You say that shite about my mother again and you'll be tasting cold steel."

The brothers, obviously confused but knowing a threat when they saw one, palmed their wands.

"We'll just be going then," Gibidon said.

What the goblin heard was "We'll just be shagging your mothers then", and all hell broke loose.

A sizable chunk of Diagon Alley was sucked into the altercation, as the curse was essentially infectious, spreading via physical contact with the already infected. Before someone managed to undo it a few hours later, there were a solid dozen and a half bodies on the ground. The two Prewetts had been the first, beheaded by the offended goblins.

* * *

As the reader can no doubt see, much care is to be taken by the enterprising murderer. But by taking proper precautions and having set plans ahead of time, you can sate yourself for decades.

Now, I had to take this book to print after putting it off for ages; luckily I took copious notes. Abraxas assures me a pen name is a must. But keep your eyes open for a companion work. I am soon to head off to break one final social norm (might as well break them all at this point). Apparently some baby (a literally, shit-in-diaper baby) has the power to defeat me as foretold in some prophecy.

Ludicrous though this prophecy may be, I cannot take any chances, I've come too far to stop, or be stopped, now. The more I've killed the more I've found myself in need of upping the ante.

One last thing. Anyone who reads this text and does not kill within twenty-four hours dies. Insurance and all that, but surely only a proper Dark Wizard would have read to this point, yes?

Happy Killings,

Tom V. Puzzlemort

* * *

 **(A/N):** Naughty naughty. ;-) This idea came from a reddit thread with the request of a story where Newt Scamander was Tom Riddle, so I basically wrote how he'd go about how own version of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. Please **favorite** and **review** this one-shot if you enjoyed it!


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